POICTIERS
On the rounded extremity of a chain of hills, surrounded on all sides
by narrow ravines, through which flow the waters of the river Clain, an
affluent of the Vienne, stands the capital of Poitou, a province which
came with Eleanor, heiress of Guienne, to Henry Plantagenet, the first
of his race who reigned in England, and which escaped from the grasp of
their luckless son, King John, in his struggle with Philip Augustus.
A fair city Poictiers is, and remarkable for its widely-extending
walls. In truth, it might claim to be one of the largest cities in
France, if judged merely by the space which the walls inclose. But its
steep and winding streets and large squares cover only a small portion
of the ground included, much of which consists of fields and gardens:
and neither the population nor the wealth of the place is, by any
means, such as a stranger would naturally suppose when viewing it from
the outside. But Poictiers had something to boast of in the shape of
historical memorials. While the cathedral, built by Henry Plantagenet,
reminds men of the days when a King of England ruled from the Orkneys
to the Pyrenees, there are remnants of a civilisation that existed
before the name of Plantagenet or of England was known. Here an arch,
there an aqueduct, at another place the relics of an amphitheatre,
recall to memory the age when Rome was great, and when evidences of
Roman grandeur and dominion were everywhere visible.
Nor is Poictiers wanting in historical associations which recall the
days of Frankish conquest and prowess in war; for, in the sixth and
eighth centuries, its neighbourhood witnessed two famous fights.
Near Poictiers, in the year 507, Clovis won a great victory over the
Visigoths; and near Poictiers, in 758, Charles Martel won a great
victory over the Saracens. It was now to be the scene of a battle in
which the French were to sustain a more signal defeat than ever they
inflicted, and in which the heir of Clovis and Charles Martel and his
chivalry were to have still worse fortune than befell Charlemagne and
his paladins at the pass of Roncesvalles.
But as yet no such disaster was dreamt of even by the least sanguine;
and, in spite of the lesson they had been taught, the cry of the
French, as before Cressy, was "Kill--kill--kill." There was little
apprehension of defeat in the streets and squares of Poictiers; almost
as little, perhaps, in the ranks of that mighty army which was slowly
encamping in the dusk of evening under the banner of France on the
plains outside the excited city. The old lion had turned to bay at
Cressy, and torn his hunters to pieces. And the young lion should pay
dearly for his father's victory.
But within the walls of Poictiers there was, at least, one person, who,
albeit regarding the situation of the English as desperate, believed
that a battle ought to, and might be prevented. Some time before the
Prince of Wales took Romorantin, the Pope sent Cardinal Perigord into
France to endeavour to make peace between John of Valois and the
enemies whom his vindictive violence had raised up, especially the King
of Navarre, who was still detained in prison at Paris. But the mission
came to nothing. After several interviews, the cardinal, finding
that all his pacific counsels were rejected, returned to Tours, and
was there when he learned that John and the Prince of Wales were both
advancing towards Poictiers, and that a meeting seemed inevitable.
On hearing this, the cardinal, true to his character of peacemaker,
hastened to Poictiers; and now, as the two armies took up their
quarters for the night, with every prospect of a battle on the morrow,
he resolved, ere they could come to blows, to make a great effort, by
offering his mediation, to prevent the effusion of Christian blood.
And while the cardinal meditated the night closed over the city and
over the plain.